Despite Hуeon Won-chang’s scathing words, no one dared respond.
Ma Gwang-Ik’s actions left the righteous factions of the martial world filled with shame. Any clumsy retaliation would only invite further disgrace.
Everyone knew this. Many averted their gaze, while others simply stared blankly.
‘Hmph.’
The heroic master of Ipwang Fortress tilted his chin upward with feigned arrogance.
His words had been thrown out as both a rebuke and an attempt to console the martial artists of the alliance. His subordinates understood his intent.
It was, indeed, a requiem. He had crafted a verse meant to sound like a lament, but the context was peculiar.
For those familiar with Seomye’s nature, it held an entirely different meaning.
Hуeon Won-chang thought that, aside from himself and Jeong Yeon-shin, no one present could read between the lines.
But he was wrong.
“That young man’s words hold great significance. The master of Ipwang sought to bring peace to a worthy adversary. This is an act of chivalry.”
The small yet commanding voice belonged to Tang Un-hwang, a hybrid of the Iron Clans.
The diminutive giant radiated Qi that surged like a powerful tide, his strength undeniable.
He had come to repay a debt—a seed sown by Jeong Yeon-shin during his travels in the martial world. He was a reassuring ally.
With both strength and justification on their side, the alliance’s matters would soon be left to settle among themselves.
“From this moment forth, the Tang Clan will prioritize the safety of the Flame King of Hua Province. Zhuge Clan Head, do not act rashly. Wait for the alliance to issue its judgment.”
Hуeon Won-chang’s eyes gleamed with a satisfied light.
Suddenly, he noticed the girl standing beside the young master. Her eyes widened, darting around in a flurry.
It occurred just after he had uttered his carefully crafted verse.
The boldness with which she had previously exposed her father’s flaws to the crowd had vanished.
Now, she kept stealing glances at Jeong Yeon-shin’s profile, her lips parting wordlessly in a daze.
She seemed both deeply startled and profoundly moved.
Taking in this scene, Hуeon Won-chang’s mind began to race.
‘She has studied our master’s techniques closely enough to understand his scars. Her mastery of clairvoyance is extraordinary—she could discern anything from those wounds. But now, hearing my words, she’s making such an expression...?’
‘Could it be...?’
His eyes widened in shock, and his gaze met that of Zhuge Cheong-ah. Her face swiftly turned expressionless.
In an instant, she regained her composure, her pale complexion returning to normal. Hуeon Won-chang thought grimly: So this is the Zhuge Clan.
‘How cunning.’
As the heroic master of Ipwang Fortress, he pondered: Could the beloved daughter of the Zhuge Clan truly be a target for annihilation?
At that moment, Zhuge Cheong-ah, inheriting her father’s shrewd instincts, gave a small shake of her head.
Her hair rippled like sunlight on water as she made the subtle gesture. Was she pretending ignorance?
‘How could I trust that?’
Hуeon Won-chang furrowed his brow, distrust deeply ingrained from years of dealing with the great factions of the martial world.
Meanwhile, events in the hall gained momentum. The situation began to coalesce around Jeong Yeon-shin, holding Cheonggirin’s body.
This was an event that would send ripples, slowly but surely, across the vast martial world.
“A meeting of the high council must be convened! The first agenda: the Zhuge Clan Head’s resignation!”
“Master of the Thousand Woods Brigade, withdraw your forces. The alliance will not harm our envoy!”
Moments like these revealed the true power of influential noble families and clans. Leaders of long-standing and renowned sects wielded extensive connections.
Some sought to de-escalate the situation. They feigned outrage while suggesting resignation and seclusion for the Zhuge Clan Head.
Their intent was clear: to protect his position.
There he stood, as serene as a crane perched upon the rooftop, silently observing the crowd below—his status as a supreme martial artist unchallenged.
The reincarnated Dragon of the Zhuge Clan was cunning.
He understood there was nothing to gain by speaking now. He relied on the seeds he had sown and his loyal subordinates to act on his behalf.
‘Resignation, you say.’
It wouldn’t happen. Hуeon Won-chang glanced at Taeyeomryong. The eldest of Ma Gwang-Ik’s nameless disciples smirked and reached into his robes.
“Everyone, take a look at this.”
He drew forth a document—evidence taken from a corrupt official.
It was proof that the Zhuge Clan Head had turned a blind eye to the Mosan Sect’s forces in exchange for the favor of the regional governor.
Taeyeomryong unfurled the letter, using a delicate, invisible blade to sever its seal.
Rip.
Before the gathered crowd, the contents of the letter came into full view.
All present were masters of high-level martial arts, and their sharp eyes easily made out the small script from afar.
The elegant handwriting danced like a living dragon, and the Zhuge Clan Head’s seal stamped at the bottom only confirmed its authenticity.
“......!”
Snap.
The Zhuge Clan Head abruptly snapped his fan shut.
A flick of his wrist sent a storm of Qi toward Taeyeomryong, aiming to rip apart both him and the document.
However, Ak Su-rim’s long spear intercepted the storm, scattering it into harmless fragments.
The faces of those who had been calling for the Zhuge Clan Head’s resignation contorted in horror.
“You weakling, trying to downplay Ma Gwang-Ik’s achievements? Sit quietly.”
Her tousled hair danced in the scattered Qi as she spoke. Beside her, Hahoe Wi-jin grinned widely, as though daring someone to try harder.
He repeatedly clenched his fists, his barely restrained ferocity evident.
The figures surrounding the young master now fortified the domain of Ipwang Fortress in the heart of the Murim Alliance.
It was a triumphant climax.
With justification and strength on his side, flanked by loyal subordinates and guarded by his seniors, Ma Gwang-Ik, holding the body of his rival, was now prepared to let Cheonggirin go.
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“The handwriting matches that of the General Overseer. The seal, imbued with his sorcery, too...”
“To curry favor with the governor, he abandoned his integrity...”
“Such conduct is beneath even Ipwang Fortress...”
The Murim Alliance, with its infamous sluggish decision-making, had the distinct advantage of making it easy to shift responsibility.
Those within the Murim Alliance who had long held animosity toward the Zhuge Patriarch took this opportunity to step forward. Despite being a coalition of righteous sects, it was still a place inhabited by humans.
Factional strife existed, even if suppressed under the overwhelming influence of the Zhuge family.
The chaos instigated by Ma Gwang-ik was now intertwining and reshaping the balance of power.
Hoo—
The Zhuge Patriarch, as if imitating Zhuge Wuhu, let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. He was the head of the Zhuge family, a leader among the righteous sects.
Unlike the heads of other unorthodox factions, he maintained his composure even as things spiraled into catastrophe, his calm demeanor seeming to sink into the quagmire of events.
Yet, no one dared to offer sympathy. No one could.
In the fragile border between silence and uproar, the Murim Alliance’s affairs slipped out of the hands of outsiders.
After paying respects to his family’s young master, the Tang Clan leader began to restore order in the hall.
Jeong Yeon-shin stood silently, feeling the cool presence of Namgung Se-jin.
At the tail end of autumn, a few crimson leaves drifted between them, brushing against their faces before falling.
They were red and translucent, the faint sunlight scattering over the leaves like a child’s delicate palm.
The young man, who had perished unable to resist the hierarchical order of the turbulent martial world, now found rest in the embrace of an adversary who had impacted even the coalition of sects.
***
Hyeon So-baek hailed from Taekju in Shanxi Province, born into a family unconnected to the martial world.
The martial arts of Shanxi had no prominent sects to boast of. Only in recent years, following the discovery of an unnamed Heavenly Demon’s tomb, had the area transformed into a land teeming with fortune seekers.
Around the same time, Hyeon So-baek roamed the martial world of Henan.
He was like the heroes of old folklore.
At the age of twelve, he was suddenly seized by the ambition to command the world.
With nothing but a small bundle, he left home. By sheer luck, he found himself under the tutelage of a wandering swordsman known as the Eternal Spring Swordsman (Yeongchun Geomgaek).
Initially, he worked as a servant, maintaining the swords and assisting his master. They called him Geomdong, the sword servant.
From a young age, Hyeon So-baek had a sincere and upright character. Even the rough-tempered master and fellow wanderers gradually opened their hearts to him.
Amidst the vagabonds who constantly worried about tomorrow’s meal, he found opportunities to learn combat techniques and the fundamentals of swordsmanship.
His extraordinary talent soon became evident.
He combined the Three Elements Mental Technique, widely disseminated by the Ming royal family, with the Eternal Spring Swordsman’s Five Elements Mental Technique.
Through this fusion, he transformed rudimentary wandering swordsman techniques into Samra Mujeon Sim-gong (Forest of Tranquil Mind Art), capable of harnessing the land’s energy to strengthen the body and even enrich soil for cultivation.
His was a talent that could build a legacy all on its own.
"Do not live a life adrift. Strike toward the direction of your intent."
These were the final words of the Eternal Spring Swordsman, left behind amidst the corpses of his comrades.
Though coarse in language, they carried the melancholy of a wanderer and served as advice to push the now-grown Geomdong into the world of the strong.
Martial arts possessed the power to turn men into beasts.
Even with the Crown’s army and the might of Ipwang Fortress, the unorthodox factions bred like insects.
It was a world where one could eat their fill with a single blade or flee death using basic lightness techniques, thanks to the boundless expanse of the land.
Hyeon So-baek fought countless battles and aided countless commoners.
While dealing with insignificant unorthodox groups, he became an enemy of the Thirteen Heavens. By then, he had refined the wandering swordsmanship into his own unique style.
With the passage of time, his swordsmanship reached unparalleled heights, eventually becoming a divine-level martial art that few could rival.
His skill, often referred to as Sword Talent (Geomjae), leaned more toward mastery of swordplay than internal arts.
This was the emergence of the Tongcheon Mura Sword Technique (通天武羅劍法), a technique that pierced the heavens.
The appearance of a Sword Saint.
Everywhere he went, his achievements left their mark. He even decapitated the leader of Sim Mu-ryeon in a fierce battle.
His fame and legacy grew immensely, eventually leading to his nomination as the righteous sect leader of the Murim Alliance.
Even though he knew it was a puppet position, he accepted it.
As he wandered the continent with vagabonds, witnessing the suffering of the world, he resolved to make the righteous sects worthy of their name.
And now, in the present:
“I owe you many apologies. My shame is not small.”
Hyeon So-baek had achieved a great triumph.
He had completely ousted the Zhuge Patriarch and now stood face-to-face with Ma Gwang-ik. The powerful aristocrat, once aligned with the righteous sects, had been forced to sever ties.
He was accompanied by the righteous and steadfast Eon Ga-jeil-gwon. Meanwhile, the Mo Yong Patriarch had withdrawn into seclusion, unable to contend with the Zhuge loyalists united under the Murim Alliance leader.
Above all, the Lord of Ipwang Fortress loomed over the proceedings.
“Rather, I am grateful. Had the Sword Saint sided with the Zhuge Patriarch, the situation would have spiraled into chaos.”
“No, my prestige has already been crushed by the trials of life. I even allied with the Zhuge Patriarch to test the martial prowess of the Shin Geomdanju. Near ink, one inevitably becomes blackened. I, too, am now a hypocrite. Even after gaining the Murim Alliance, I cannot act freely, burdened by the need to keep Ipwang Fortress in check. To soothe and lead the anxious righteous sects... Hm, I do seem to have grown verbose.”
The conversation between a young master and an elder martial artist rejuvenated by decades of cultivation was calm yet tinged with bitterness.
A garden blanketed in autumn leaves, more vibrant than spring blossoms.
Amid the fiery red carpet that spread underfoot, Ma Gwang-ik, clad in a sleeveless black robe on his left side, held a sword pointed downward.
The calm aura surrounding him occasionally flared with sharp waves of energy. Each time it happened, the red leaves scattered at his feet seemed to split of their own accord.
The precision of his full-body aura projection was razor-sharp. He wielded his body like a swordsman born for combat.
The onlookers murmured their admiration.
"Our Seomye is evolving again, isn’t he? Faster progress than even the elders before him. When he returns, the old man will be grinning from ear to ear."
"Whether or not it’s progress, the ritual does seem to carry some dignity. Perhaps one of our ancestors had ties to his lineage."
Watching from a nearby boulder, Ipwang Divine Spear Ak Su-rim and Heavenly Fist Master Hahoe Wi-jin observed the scene with detached interest.
Behind the Sword Saint, representatives of the Murim Alliance stood stiffly in a circle.
Among them were figures like the Tang Clan leader, Hwasan Sword Master Yu Hyeon, So Geomhwi, Zhuge Hyeon and Zhuge Cheong-ah, Ak Ye-rim, Mo Yong-myeongjun, Gongsun Min, and the Namgung branch leaders.
Only the position of Ye Sojeo, the Alliance’s chief strategist, stood out. Despite being part of the Murim Alliance, she was oddly closer to Jeong Yeon-shin than to her own faction.
Standing with her hands lightly clasped behind her, her ebony hair cascading down, her position and stance were so precise and subtle that no one dared to comment on it.
“What do you think, my lord? Can Ma Gwang-ik gain any insight?”
“What could my eye for swords possibly compare to that of the Hwasan Sword Master? My only concern is his safety.”
“A junior like me wishes to hear the esteemed elders’ opinions. I’ve only trained in the Sun-Piercing Sword Technique, so my knowledge is limited. I’ve never seen a swordplay like this before. Are the rumors true? They say Lord Jeong created his own martial art. Even Lady Ak mentioned it before...”
Some younger martial heirs were present as representatives of their sects, though not the actual leaders. They had gathered to witness and verify the closing ceremony of the Gepa Daetjeon Tournament.
The Gepa Ceremony was a sacred event for any sect, symbolizing its legitimacy.
Though chaos had broken out earlier, the tradition could not be entirely disregarded. At least one sword would need to be exchanged.
The Sword Saint and Seomye.
The elder swordsman, despite his youthful appearance, looked forward to this day.
Even as he navigated the delicate politics of pleasing powerful aristocrats for the greater good, he welcomed the emergence of young talent.
The moment he recognized Jeong Yeon-shin’s potential and the heavy burden of his fate, he had sighed deeply, hoping such a promising star would not fade in vain.
Had their paths crossed earlier, he would have gladly taken him as a disciple.
Ipwang Fortress Lord, I cannot grasp your true intentions.
The Sword Saint, Hyeon So-baek, had never taken a disciple. The early loss of his master, the Eternal Spring Swordsman, had left him reluctant to pass on such sorrow to others.
In light of today’s events, he found himself wondering about the thoughts of a master burdened with a disciple whose life might be tragically cut short.
“Let them enter.”
Hyeon So-baek spoke, calmly drawing his sword as he did so.
It had been a long time since his blade emerged so naturally, the sound of it being unsheathed entirely silent.
From the polished grain of the wooden training floor emanated an air of serene dignity.
It was accompanied by a rising sense of anticipation.
Hyeon So-baek tried to recall the last time he had felt intrigued by another’s swordplay.
Perhaps the wear of countless battles had dulled his memories. Or maybe it was his own extraordinary talent as a wanderer-turned-leader of the righteous sects that made such moments so rare.
To find inspiration in the techniques of the mediocre was nearly impossible. The path of the sword required dramatic ingenuity to truly captivate.
Even the swordsmanship of the former leader of Sim Mu-ryeon had left him with only irritation.
He hoped not to burden the newly appointed Ma Gwang-ik with the weight of his expectations, even if the man’s talent was extraordinary.
A foolish thought.
Hyeon So-baek dismissed his expectations, choosing instead to act as a senior in the martial world.
“Polish your swordsmanship to its fullest,” he instructed.
As the elite spectators of the martial world fell silent, a single sound echoed.
Step.
Seomye moved forward, his steps measured and calm.
The sword known as Bukmyeong, reportedly forged by the Tang Clan, was raised high above his head.
His form traced a high stance, the blade’s brilliant white edge pointing toward the sky as if brushing the clouds before freezing in place.
For a moment, there was only a chilling silence.
Something is different.
Hyeon So-baek realized it immediately.
From the edge of Ma Gwang-ik’s blade, a faint white aura began to seep.
It met the air and solidified like smoke, coating the blade, flowing down the guard, and lightly brushing his ebony sleeve before teasing the hem.
It was as if his entire body was wrapped in a biting wind—a harsh winter gale.
An unnamed swordsmanship was on the verge of earning its name.